Mahabharata
A Story of the Dvapara Yuga in Prose
Part–34E (continued)
By Lokanath Mishra
Night had passed beyond the middle watch when the five brothers returned to their dwelling, carrying with them not a fruit, but a destiny. Draupadi, daughter of the fire-ritual, walked behind them with hesitant steps, her heart still echoing the uproar of the svayamvara.
Yudhishthira stopped before the closed door of the hut and called out softly:
“Mother, please give us a pot of water.”
Kunti was inside, busy with evening rites. Without opening the door, she asked:
“Have you brought something, my sons? What is it that you wish to divide?”
Yudhishthira replied with joy:
“Mother, today we have gained a great and precious fruit!”
But Kunti, thinking they had returned with some alms—as they always did—spoke the words that destiny placed upon her tongue:
“Whatever it is, divide it equally among yourselves. Let all five of you share it.”
She said it casually, lovingly, as any mother of wandering mendicants would. She had not yet opened the door. She had not seen who—or what—stood outside.
Inside, the moment the words were spoken, the unseen powers stirred. Outside, the Pandavas looked at one another in stunned silence.
Bhima broke it first.
“Mother!” he cried, “open the door and see. This is no fruit from the forest. Arjuna has pierced the eye of the revolving target. The princess of Panchala—Draupadi, daughter of King Drupada—has come with us!”
Kunti opened the door at once. The sight of the princess, radiant even in confusion, made her heart tremble. Draupadi and her companion Kesini bowed low, touching her feet, though their minds were full of questions.
Kunti clasped Draupadi’s hands, her voice shaken:
“Child, unknowingly I uttered those words. But speech once released cannot be recalled. Perhaps some divine purpose has moved through me tonight. Rest now. Tomorrow, after seeking the counsel of Sage Vyasa, the right decision will be taken.”
Draupadi stepped inside, still bewildered, still wounded by the thought of being compared to a fruit to be divided.
Night in the Potter’s House
The hut appeared ordinary to Draupadi’s eyes—made of mud and bamboo, lit by a dim flickering lamp. Yet it was no common place. Unknown to her, the potter couple who sheltered the Pandavas were a pair of Gandharvas in disguise, appointed by the gods. By Indra’s command, Vishvakarma had shaped this humble dwelling as an entrance to a small portion of celestial Antarikshapura. The floor that looked like straw was made of crushed camphor and powdered jewels; the bedding that seemed like dry leaves was soft as clouds.
But Draupadi knew none of this.
A princess of Panchala, raised in comfort and honor, felt humiliated at the thought of sleeping on ash-like bedding.
She whispered bitterly:
“I, born of the sacred fire,
daughter of King Drupada—
must I now sleep upon this rough bed?
Is this the reward fate has chosen?”
Kunti, hearing her, replied gently but firmly:
“Child, my sons live by alms. It is your destiny to share their path. Accept what fate has woven.”
Draupadi fell silent. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she swallowed them. She lay down, pretending to sleep, though her heart was storming.
Fear in Panchala
Meanwhile, in the royal palace of Panchala, chaos reigned. King Drupada struck his forehead in grief; Queen Padmavati wept inconsolably. Dhrishtadyumna and Shikhandi, torches in hand, led men into the streets searching for Draupadi, believing wicked kings had abducted her.
Kesini’s sudden arrival brought news:
“The Brahmin archer and the princess are safe. They are in a potter’s house.”
Dhrishtadyumna rushed there first, but the sight of a giant figure asleep—Bhima, whose breath made the roof rise and fall—terrified him, and he fled back.
Then he and Shikhandi forced themselves to look again. The dim lamp revealed Draupadi lying at the feet of the ascetic-looking brothers. Rage flared within him—the humiliation of his sister, daughter of fire, sleeping on the floor of beggars!
He moved to break the door and drag his sister out—but Kesini stopped him.
“These are no ordinary Brahmins,” she warned. “Among them is the archer who pierced the revolving target. Let King Drupada himself decide. He alone must pronounce judgment.”
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To be continued…